THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW
Works of
T. Jenkins Hains
The Windjammers $1.50
The Black Barque 1.50
The Voyage of the Arrow 1.50
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building
BOSTON, MASS.
[Illustration: “I DREW HER TO ME AND KISSED HER.”
(_See page 236_)]
THE VOYAGE
of the _ARROW_
To the China Seas. Its Adventures and
Perils, including Its Capture by _Sea Vultures_
from the Countess of Warwick, as
set down by _William Gore_, Chief Mate.
By
T. Jenkins Hains
Author of “The Black Barque,” “The Windjammers,”
etc.
_With Six Illustrations by_
H. C. Edwards
[Illustration: colophon]
_Boston_: L. C. PAGE &
COMPANY (Incorporated) _Mdccccvi_
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, April, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A._
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“I DREW HER TO ME AND KISSED HER” (_See page 236_) _Frontispiece_
“MISS WATERS STOOD IN THE DOOR OF THE AFTER COMPANIONWAY” 60
“I FOUND TIME TO DO SOME WORK UPON THE WHEEL GEAR” 141
“GAZING SILENTLY AFTER US, ADRIFT AND ALONE” 197
“‘WHEN I WANT YOU MEN TO COME AFT HERE TO HELP ME, I’LL SEND FOR YOU’” 217
“I FORCED HIM BACKWARDS TO THE POOP-RAIL” 253
THE VOYAGE OF THE ARROW
CHAPTER I.
In setting down this tale, I will say at the beginning that I am only a
sailorman, and rough. Therefore, if I offend, I crave pardon, for my
knowledge is only that of the sea, and my manners are ocean-bred. If any
one is too delicately constituted to listen to a man like myself, and
prefers a tale of gentleness and delicate desire, he had best pass over
this narrative of part of my life, which has already received so much
publicity. I know many people hold off from me. I know some
sweet-scented sea lawyers who fancy they have a taste for description
have called me many hard names, and that many honest folk hold away from
me because of it. This and much more. But I have gone my way in silence
and lived according to the little voice within me, as a strong man
should. And it is not weakness now that prompts me to speak. I feel it
my duty, and will tell what I know and remember about the part of my
life which the public have chosen to discuss so freely.
I do not know who will believe a sailor’s tale, for sailors have been
known to enlarge on their yarns, but my father was a sailor before me
and was an honest man. So were many of the Gores, and I myself have been
master of a deep-water clipper-ship.
In spite of this I hardly feel that I have reached an exalted pinnacle
of human fame, for most people do not regard me as a success, nor am I
held up as a shining example of what man might accomplish in his life’s
work, although I was captain of the _Southern Cross_--until I ran her
ashore and lost her on the Irish coast.
This was all owing to misdirected effort--that is, her loss was; for,
after slaving twelve years fore and aft to get command of a ship and at
last getting one, I tried to break the record from Hongkong to
Liverpool. I did this by five days, and instead of holding offshore
until the weather moderated, I overran my distance during a foggy,
driving gale and left the whitening ribs of the _Southern Cross_ to mark
the success of my endeavour. Had I made harbour, my name would have gone
down to posterity as that of the best sailor afloat, and I would have
had the pick of the whole deep-water fleet, instead of being forced, as
I was, to sign on as mate of the _Arrow_.
It made my eyes misty and something rose in my throat as I did this. I,
a man of twenty-nine, signing the papers for a mate’s berth just as I
had done years ago when barely twenty.
I thought of the wild work I had done on the yard-arm in many a fierce
and freezing gale. I fancied I saw again the ragged rocks of the Ramires
through the gloom of the Antarctic night. The powerful typhoon of the
South Pacific and the hurricane of the Gulf flitted for an instant
before my misty vision. Then--Yes, then I was aware of Mr. Ropesend
gazing down quietly at me over the edge of his gold-rimmed spectacles,
and I signed “William Gore” without a tremor.
Mr. Ropesend was the head of the firm of importers who had chartered the
_Arrow_ for this voyage, and he had appointed old man Crojack as
skipper.
It seemed to me that the old merchant read some of the thoughts which
were uppermost in my mind, for his eyes held such a pitying look that I
arose from my chair with a rough oath. Then I threw the pen down on the
table and bitterly cursed the man who had invented such a thing for a
sailor. I felt like rushing from the office, and I set my teeth hard
when I put on my hat and swaggered out into the street.
It was almost as hard for me to sign that agreement as it would have
been for me to sign on a ship’s articles as a common sailor. I fancied
that some of the clerks smiled, but I really saw nothing distinctly
until I breathed the damp air of the foggy street and mingled with the
busy throng on the pavement.
Making my way slowly through the crowd, I entered the doorway of a
saloon that stood on the corner of a cross-street a few blocks farther
down-town. I had been in there often before, so, nodding to the
proprietor at the bar, I walked into the room and sat down at a vacant
table and ordered a drink. Then, picking up a copy of the _Marine
Journal_, I tried to forget my misfortunes and become interested in the
shipping news.
The noise of people talking as they sat and chattered at each other
around the various tables distracted my attention from the paper. I
looked over the top of the sheet to see if I knew any one in the crowd.
While I looked the gathering over, lazily scanning the men’s faces, two
men entered from the bar, and I recognized them to be clerks in the
shipping department of the office I had just left.
My first impulse was to leave the place, for I knew they recognized me,
although they showed no knowledge of my presence. Then I realized that I
was getting oversensitive and morbid about my downfall, so I buried
myself in the paper again and ordered another drink. I was very
thirsty. The two clerks seated themselves at a table next to mine and
gave their orders. In a few minutes I forgot their presence.
While I read of an overdue vessel which had just arrived with half her
crew down with scurvy, I heard Mr. Ropesend’s name mentioned in a low
tone by one of the clerks. I didn’t hear what was said in connection
with his name, but, in spite of this, my curiosity was excited and I
found myself listening attentively to the low, earnest voices of the
men. This annoyed me extremely when I realized what I was doing, and I
concentrated my thoughts upon the paper again. Picking out a most
exciting incident, I read of how Amos White, a well-digger, had lit the
fuses of three blasts in the bottom of an open caisson in the harbour.
He had then started up the rope ladder, and it had parted and dropped
him down upon them. With great presence of mind he had snuffed two of
the fuses with his fingers, but the third had reached the tamping.
Dropping flat on his breast, he instantly stuck his tongue into the hole
and--
I felt a certain amount of relief when I found that Mr. White had saved
himself from turning into an impromptu sky-pilot. Then my attention
relaxed, and I was aware of the two clerks talking in an animated
manner, with their voices still modulated, though louder than before.
“The evidence is dead against Brown,” said one. “Anderson was pretty
clear in his statement to Mr. Ropesend, and he is not the kind of man to
incriminate any one unless he’s pretty certain about it.”
“That’s all right! That’s all right! I’ll admit that,” said the one with
his back toward me, in an excited and silly manner. “Anderson is pretty
careful about his own skin, and that’s just what stumps me after all
this talk about Brown and his sister. They are engaged, aren’t they?”
“They are, and that’s just what makes me so certain he is right about
it. He never would have kept so quiet about it if his sister wasn’t
concerned. Brown will never know who gave him away.”
“What did the books show, did you find out?”
“Several thousand, I believe, but of course Brown will get his friends
to make it good, and get away. He’s all right with Mr. Ropesend,
somehow, and the old man, I hear, is going to send him off with Captain
Crojack, so it can be hushed up.”
“Well, I’m sorry for him, for one. He’s a good fellow, and he’s done
more than one man a good turn through his influence. He never hesitates
to help a friend, and that is more than can be said for Anderson. I
never did like that fellow’s face--”
Here I lost the drift of what was said. I had heard enough, however, to
excite my curiosity again, and I sat wondering what had happened.
Young Mr. Brown had been cashier for the firm for several years. I had
met him several times in the shipping-house, and we held a sort of
speaking acquaintance. He had handed me my last freight money when I was
master of the _Southern Cross_.
The man Anderson was bookkeeper for the firm and a nephew of Mr.
Tackles, the junior member. I had never spoken to him, but knew him well
enough by sight.
There was evidently something wrong, so I thought, but as more could be
learned by keeping quiet than in any other way, I didn’t allow my
curiosity to worry me.
In a few minutes the clerks left the room, and I finished the drink I
had ordered. Then I paid my score from a bag of rather light pocket
ballast, and strolled down to the dock where the _Arrow_ lay.
Larry O’Toole, the big, red-headed, freckle-faced second mate, was hard
at work on her main-deck getting a mixed cargo into her. He had been
second mate with me once before, and he gave me a hearty greeting as I
climbed aboard.
I reported to Captain Crojack, and then got into my working togs to
start the men loading at the fore hatch. Every one aboard the ship knew
me, and even the old rigger, who was setting up the backstays, had
sailed with my father, Captain Gore, when he was the crack skipper of
the Yankee deep-water fleet, and who had gone on his long cruise when I
was yet a boy.
I felt my position to be rather uncomfortable at first, but a sailor
soon learns to adapt himself to all circumstances, and I reasoned that
it would be better to appear as a good mate than as a poor skipper. Then
I took hold in earnest, and it wasn’t long before we had the clipper
settling in a way that bid fair to have her on her load-line in a pair
of days.
When we knocked off work for the night, I went aft and met Captain
Crojack, who handed me a note from Mr. Ropesend. I opened it and found
that it was an invitation to join a small party of the old merchant’s
friends at his house that evening. I showed it to Captain Crojack and
explained that I was not a man for a social party of either men or
women, and that in my present humour I would prove rather poor company.
After talking over the matter with him, however, he intimated so
strongly that I must go that I finally went to a barber’s and then
rigged myself out as well as possible in a hired suit of clothes. I had
lost all my shore togs, except one ragged suit, in the wreck of the
_Southern Cross_.
After finishing my rig, I made my way in no pleasant frame of mind to
Mr. Ropesend’s residence.
On arriving there I looked at my watch and found that it was exactly the
hour he requested me to be there, so I walked boldly up the broad stone
steps, rang the bell and entered. There was not a soul there besides Mr.
Ropesend and his sister, Mrs. Matthews, but this lady was dressed as
though she expected company. You will understand what I mean by that,
for a sailor can hardly describe the gearings belonging to trim females,
in spite of the fact that he is always talking about them and drawing
comparisons between them and clippers under sky-sails.
The large hall of the house was decorated with great quantities of
rubber-plants, palms, and ferns. The door which led into the passage to
the conservatory was open, and the drawing-room was filled with the
warm, damp odour of flowers and moist earth.
The old merchant came forward and grasped me by the hand as if greeting
his oldest friend. We talked pleasantly about old times for a few
minutes, and then, excusing himself to his sister, he took my arm and
led me into the conservatory, where he intimated that he had something
new in the way of ferns to show me.
As we passed along through the aisles, among the plants, I recognized a
rare Australian fern that I had presented him on my return from the
first voyage I had made in one of his vessels.
It was pleasant to be among those luxurious surroundings, even for a
short time, but as I knew that he had business with me which he was
anxious to settle, my interest centred mostly upon the old gentleman
himself.
After a desultory and one-sided conversation, in which I took the
smaller part, he seated himself on a rustic bench and motioned me to sit
beside him.
“I wished you to be here to-night,” he began, “so you would meet Mr.
Brown and, perhaps, have a talk with him, for he is going to sail with
you on the _Arrow_.”
I remained silent, for I couldn’t quite catch the drift of his meaning.
“Not as a passenger,” he went on, “but as third mate.” Then he was
silent for a moment as he saw I was listening.
“I see,” I answered, but I really saw nothing except the old man’s keen
gray eyes regarding me curiously from over the rim of his eye-glasses. I
am an old sea-dog of the tight-jawed breed, and I’ve always found that
when a man wishes to learn something it is best to let the man imparting
the knowledge do the talking.
“The young man has not been in good health for some time past and we
have thought it advisable that he should take a long sea-voyage on which
he can get plenty of exercise and fresh air. He has expressed a
preference to go with you on the _Arrow_.”
“I see,” I answered again, for although not of a suspicious nature, I
was beginning to see that there was something unhealthy about the
business. I did not feel greatly flattered by the preference bestowed
upon me, so I kept quiet after admitting that I saw.
My manner was not lost upon Mr. Ropesend, for he eyed me keenly, and
continued:
“Mr. Gore, this young man’s father was my earliest friend. I looked upon
him as I would look upon my own brother, and I look upon his child as I
would look upon--well, say my own--had I ever married and had one--you
understand?”
I bowed.
“And as he will have to be in your watch, I want you to take every care
of him that you possibly can, without, of course, interfering with the
ship’s duties or discipline. He will not be one who will try to shirk
hard work.” He said this with great warmth, and after pausing a moment
to allow his words to have their effect, continued:
“I know that your misfortunes have soured your temper to a certain
extent--No, no, don’t misunderstand me,” he put in, hastily, as he saw
my look. “I know that you are only human and what you have been through
would have ruined most men. At the same time you have a great deal to
be thankful for.”
“Yes,” I growled, rather ill-naturedly, “I suppose I should be thankful
that I haven’t the smallpox, or the yellow fever, or a hundred other
things. Being thankful for a number of things that don’t happen to me
does not make me thankful for some that have.”
He was silent for a few moments, and then said, with a smile, “I see you
wish me to believe you a philosopher. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine,” I answered.
“Have you ever been in love?” he continued, smiling broadly, and the
merry twinkling of his eyes told me plainly that our business was
finished.
“Never in my life,” I answered, firmly, and I never knew until that
moment that I could lie so easily.
“Of course, then, you have never married and don’t know what it is to
have a son of your own.”
“Hm-m-m, well,” I answered, “I’ve made several voyages to China and
Japan, and it is always the custom out there to purchase a wife, if you
can support her and--”
“Never mind, never mind about that,” he interrupted, quickly; “I don’t
want any of your reminiscences at present. You understand what I want
done with Mr. Brown, so we might as well go in and see if any one has
arrived.”
I was astonished, when we neared the door of the drawing-room, to hear a
great hum of voices. We had been in the conservatory only a short time,
but during that interval a number of people had arrived and were seated
at small tables playing euchre.
Mr. Ropesend found a place for me at a table with Mr. Brown, Miss
Anderson, and Captain Crojack’s pretty niece, Miss Waters. How the
evening passed I can hardly remember. I was a poor partner for Miss
Waters, who kept telling me over and over again that she and her mother
were going out with us to China. It was a great relief to me when some
one suggested dancing, so I could get away.
I felt conspicuous among those people, for, after all, I was nothing
but the mate of a deep-water ship. I could dance about as well as a
Chinese mandarin, and my hands were so large and brown that they looked
absurd among the rest of those at the card-table.
I looked around for Mr. Ropesend to say good night and see if he had any
further orders for me. Not finding him, I separated from the rest and
walked into the conservatory and sat down.
After a few minutes the good-natured person playing the piano grew tired
and ceased. Then several couples came laughing into the conservatory and
through it to the garden beyond. I thought I would wait until they all
came out, and then go in and say good night, so I lounged back in my
seat beneath the ferns and palms.
Presently Mr. Brown and Miss Anderson came out and stood just opposite
me, but directly behind a thick bunch of palmettos. They were whispering
earnestly, and the girl leaned heavily upon the young man’s arm.
“How did it happen?” I heard her ask him, passionately.
“I don’t know any more about it than you do, dearest,” he answered. “I
am the cashier, and I’ll be held responsible. That is all, and that is
why, I suppose, that I am going on this voyage. Mr. Ropesend seems to
think it is absolutely necessary to hush the matter up.”
“But I don’t see--”
It seemed to me that I had made great progress in listening to matters
that were none of my business. I reflected, however, that it was through
no efforts of my own, and remained silent. I have always tried to be
broad-minded, and this evening listening appeared to me to be anything
but wrong. There was a short silence, and I caught a glimpse of the
girl’s beautiful face as she looked up at her lover’s.
“Wherever I go, dear, I’ll always--”
“And I’ll be yours, Jack--”
And as she put up her beautiful mouth to be kissed, I gave a deep grunt
of satisfaction before I realized what I was about. I turned away my
head and heard a rustle of silk. When I looked up again, they were
gone.
As soon as possible I found Mr. Ropesend and said good night. Then,
without a word to any one else, I hurried away.
The little scene I had just witnessed impressed me strangely and haunted
me all the way down to the ship. That beautiful, earnest face, with the
trembling, sensitive lips repeating those last words--somehow it brought
back to me an incident that--
I passed a beggar leaning against the side of a house, with his crutch
before him, and, as I passed him heedlessly, I heard the deep curses he
hurled after me. Turning quickly, I grabbed him before he could move
half a fathom.
“Curse, you scoundrel!” I bawled; “curse every one who is up while you
are down. Curse again, damn you; it does me great good. Curse again!”
And I took the last dollar I had left and forced it into his hand. Then
I released him and he fell to the ground, and as I walked away I could
hear the word “devil” hissed in a frightened whisper.
I made my way to my stateroom in the forward cabin without meeting any
one except the man on watch. Then, quickly stowing my shore togs, I
turned in and was instantly asleep.